Fabulous Me

Five Minutes of Om

Posted by

0

The last time I did yoga, I was five months pregnant. I walked into a class that I had attended on a quasi-regular basis. The teacher, however, was not familiar to me. I explained my situation, and she told me to rest when I needed.

What she should have told me was to go home. I wasn’t ready for her intense, work-up-a-sweat style. I spent most of the class in child’s pose and the next two days in bed.

A newborn baby, sleepless nights, a stress fracture, a torn meniscus and carpal tunnel have placed yoga no where near my to-do list. (The story of all these injuries is quite unglamorous. I am simply getting older.)

When I announced the return of my five-minute challenges, my favorite Yogi reminded me to keep my shoulders down. After chuckling, I did a quick self-check. She was right. My shoulders were up to my earlobes.

Instead of hitting the snooze this morning, I got up and blew the dust off my yoga mat. I took 10 minutes instead of five, but it was sorely needed. I’m sure I used to be able to touch my toes. Nevertheless, I felt better after just a few minutes.

I spent the majority of the work day in meetings. After chasing and wrestling a squirmy 25-lb kid this evening, another yoga moment was in order. I squeezed in five minutes between putting my two girls to bed.

My shoulders are not yet back in there proper place, but they are on the way.



Accepting Praise (or Finding Fabulous, Part 2)

Posted by

2

During one of my daily Facebook check ins, I saw a post from a friend that said she was on a mission to slim down. I had to read the person’s name twice, because I didn’t think she needed to lose an ounce.

I happened to run into her later that day. She was petite as I remembered.
“Hey!” I said. ” I saw your post earlier today. You look great! You want to lose weight?”

She sighed out a puff of air so tough it ruffled her bangs. As she was explaining to me that the weight loss was much needed, someone else approached and had the same reaction as I did. That person then turned to me. “You look awesome too! That’s a great outfit.”

I looked down at what I was wearing. Black pants, floaty white blouse, black blazer. I had a lot of trouble picking something that day, and I begrudgingly threw that outfit together. Just as I was about to lament, I caught the complaint at the back of my throat.

“Thank you,” I smiled.

We spent a more few minutes talking about fitness. As we parted ways, I said to my friend: “I understand not being where you want to be, but I think you look great.”

I got a smile. “Thank you. I must be hiding it really well.”

This exchange got me to thinking. When do women learn to accept compliments with a grain of salt? I tried to think of the compliments I’ve received lately — from friends, colleagues, my hubby. I gave a caveat to most of them.

That’s over. I’m still in the process of defining what “fabulous” means to me, but I’m certain it includes gracefully accepting praise and believing that I deserve it.
So yes, my outfit was banging. I worked that blazer.

Finding Fabulous

Posted by

0

A couple of years ago, a friend and I took two weekend trips – one to LA, and one to Seattle. I remember being glad to get out of town. I had been juggling a full-time job and a part-time teaching gig, so I was beat.

Not only did I feel run down, I think I looked it too. My hair was in that awful in-between stage — too long to be short and too short for a ponytail. My highlights were fading, and I needed a relaxer. Add dark under eye circles and a not-so-glowing complexion, and you had what was by far my most haggard look.

In LA, the people were sunny, sparkling, and stylish. In Seattle, they were effortlessly cool. My fatigue was magnified while in both locations. My friend felt it too. She battled a demanding job and found it hard to take a break.

At some point during one those trips, we made a pact. I’m certain a good meal and a glass or two of wine were involved. We would dedicate ourselves to being fabulous.

By the time we returned home and fell back into our busy routines, the pact was all but forgotten. A pregnancy and a new job for hubby made for big changes in our household. My pregnancy was a high-risk one, thanks to chronic hypertension. Hubby’s job was out of state and would keep him away for two weeks at a time. Being fabulous was not a priority.

A few things have happened in the last year and a half (Time flies!) that have me thinking about this again.

1. Pregnancy and prenatal vitamins gave me a head of shiny, thick hair. Post-partum hair loss left me with bald spots at the temples. Enter a talented stylist who cut in a bob with blunt-cut bangs to rival Michelle Obama’s. And just for the record, I got mine first.

2. My friend gave me a gift card for a mani/pedi, which I promptly used. Then Ulta Beauty opened near my house, and they regularly send me coupons that are too good to ignore.

3. I decided to cut myself some slack. If I say no once in a while and ask my hubby for help, it’s amazing how much more time I seem to have. More about these later.

I don’t know if I’m fabulous just yet, but I think I’m well on my way.

My Womaness

Posted by

4

I’m on a secret vacation. Well, it’s only a secret to some. I’m at a point where I feel as if everything is falling apart — I’m tired, my house is junky, I’m out of clean clothes, I haven’t blogged in who knows when, and I feel like a bad mom. So, I took a week off to get myself in order. I told my brother because I knew he wouldn’t spill the beans. My husband figured it out today when I didn’t go into work for the second day in a row.

As I was lying in bed this morning (sleeping late is fun!), I ran across a blog post from Theta Mom that asked the question: “Are We Women or Mothers First?”
The post made me reflective, which wasn’t really how I planned on being during my secret vacation. But the question was compelling: Am I a woman first, or a mom?
I won’t say the answer I came up with is the right one, but it is the right one for me. I’m a woman. I couldn’t be a mom if I weren’t. I’m nurturing, sensitive, and intuitive. And as an added bonus, I can rock a four-inch heel. It’s how I apply my “womaness” that makes me who I am.
These days, the roles are diverse. It’s why I needed a vacation.
Dutiful Daughter. My mother’s recovery is just beginning, and I have become my parent’s parent. It’s an awkward and scary position. I’m telling her what to do, she’s telling me what to do, and neither of us are budging.
Frazzled Mom. My crazy schedule of late has me feeling disconnected from my daughter. Today, I was determined to make a change. I picked her up from daycare, and we spent the evening in the yard planting flowers. Well, I planted flowers, and she danced around the yard with a watering can. I read her a story before bedtime. It was a good day.
Wifey. Until last weekend, I couldn’t remember the last time hubby and I went on a date. We celebrated our one-year anniversary with dinner and a movie on Saturday. It was the perfect evening for a high-heel sandal, but I chose to wear flats. We ended up walking around Clayton, so it was a good call. I didn’t realize how much I missed him.
Career Woman. I don’t even know where to start on this one. I’m on vacation, so I’ll just pretend this doesn’t exist.
Writer/Creative Soul. Surprisingly, blogging has helped me keep things in perspective. It reminds me to not get lost in the madness.
It’s a juggling act to be sure, and the priorities shift from day to day. Even with all the craziness going on right now, I appreciate everything my “womanness” allows me to be.